The Old Pincushion: or, Aunt Clotilda's Guests

'To find the will!' repeated Kathie, sitting bolt upright, and staring at Philippa as if she thought the little girl was taking leave of her senses. 'Me find the will! You little goose! how could I find it when that stupid Miss Clotilda and all the lawyers and people haven't been able to find it? Why, even Neville never thought of such a thing.'

'Perhaps he will, though; and if he doesn't, if I were you, I'd put it into his head. If Miss Clotilda is really stupid' —

'Oh! I don't know that she is – it's just my way of speaking.' Philippa looked rather disappointed. 'I don't know anything about her except that she's an old maid, and old maids are either crabbed or stupid; and they say she's not crabbed,' said Kathie. 'But seriously, Phil, what do you mean? How could I find the will, or even look for it? It isn't here in London, and very likely it's nowhere at all. Very likely old Mrs. Wynne never wrote it.'

'Oh, Kathie!' exclaimed Philippa, 'I do think you can't have a very good mind to fancy such things. She would have had to be a really naughty old lady to have pretended so, and tricked everybody for nothing. Of course she must have written it; you told me the letter with nothing in it was marked "Directions where to find my will."'

'Ye-es,' said Kathleen, 'so it was. But what then? It seems to me the first thing to do would be to find the paper that should have been in that envelope.'

'Of course,' said Philippa, her face flushing. 'I never thought of that. You see, Kathie, you are quick and clever when you really think.'

'I never said I wasn't,' Kathleen replied composedly. 'But that's the beginning and end of my thinking about this thing. Let's talk about something else now, Phil.'

'No,' said the little girl decidedly. 'I don't care to talk of anything else. Just think, Kathie, how lovely it would be if you did find it, and all came right, and your papa and mamma came home to that beautiful place in Wales; you'd invite me sometimes for the holidays, wouldn't you?'

'Of course,' said Kathie heartily. 'I never thought of that. But by-the-by, Phil, you should be glad of this going wrong if you care for me. I'd have been leaving school if it had been all right.'

'I know, said Philippa quietly. 'I did think of that, and of course it would break my heart for you to go. But I'd rather it did break —quite,' she went on, as if she understood thoroughly all about the process, 'rather than that your poor papa and mamma shouldn't be able to come home, and you all be happy together at that lovely place.'

'I don't know that it's lovely,' observed Kathie. 'I fancy it's just a funny old-fashioned place. But it's in the country and near the sea – I love the country and the sea – of course it would be awfully nice. It's very good of you, Phil, to care about it all so much. I only wish it would come right. If I could find that paper or the will! It wouldn't matter which. If I were there, I'd hunt. I'd poke into all sorts of corners, that perhaps Aunt Clotilda has never thought of.'

'Well, I think you should manage to go there,' said Philippa. 'I don't see why your aunt shouldn't ask you to pay her a visit while she's still there, now that the old lady is dead.'

'Yes; I think she might,' Kathleen agreed. 'Any way, it would be a change from that going to Bognor for three weeks that I dislike so. I am so sick of Bognor. And you won't be there, Phil; you're going to your grandmother's.'

'Yes,' said Philippa; 'I didn't much want to go while I thought you were to be here. But if you were going away, I shouldn't mind.'

'I'll ask Neville about it,' said Kathie. 'He has said something once or twice about wishing I could go to Aunt Clotilda, but I always told him I shouldn't like it, and that unless papa and mamma regularly ordered me to go, I wouldn't. I do so dislike old maids.'

'Why, who do you know that's old maids?' asked Philippa. 'Why do you dislike them?'

'Oh! there's Miss Eccles – and, after all, I'm not sure that I do dislike her. No, I don't think I do,' she went on, meditatively. 'But there's Miss Fraser; there now, Philippa, we may dislike her – nasty, spying, sharp, spiteful thing!'

Philippa considered. It never occurred even to her to dispute the right of all the school to dislike Miss Fraser – her mind was considering another aspect of the question.

'But are you sure she is an old maid?' she said. 'She can't be more than twenty. When do old maids begin?'

'I don't know,' Kathie replied vaguely. 'I don't think there's any settled age. I suppose it's just that some are always going to be old maids. But let's talk of something nicer, Phil. Let's plan that place in Wales – Ty – Tig – I can't say the name of it in Welsh, but I know it means the White House. Let's plan all about it, how the rooms go, and everything, and fancy you're coming to stay with us there. Let me see – shall it be haunted?'

'No, no,' cried Philippa, with a little scream, putting her hands over her ears, relapsing suddenly into the sort of plaintive childishness which made her such an inconsistent little person. 'No, no, Kathie. It's very unkind of you to frighten me. I'll never come to stay with you if you're going to plan that it's haunted.'

'Then it shan't be,' said Kathie reassuringly. 'Don't be silly, Phil.'

CHAPTER III.

AUNT CLOTILDA'S REPLY

Wednesday came in due course, and as Mrs. Fanshaw's invitation had been received, and graciously accepted by Miss Eccles for Kathleen, the young lady was ready and waiting when her brother called for her.

'Good-bye, Kathie darling,' whispered a little voice over the balusters, 'and don't forget.'

'No, dear, and good-bye,' Kathleen replied.

'Who was that on the stairs?' Neville asked, when the two were making their way down the street.

'Philippa – Philippa Harley,' Kathie answered.

'The little girl who cries so?' inquired Neville.

'Oh, she's rather left off crying. She's very sensible in some ways,' said Kathleen.

'That's sensible,' said Neville. 'Still I don't know that I don't like her for having cried a good deal. I like people to mind things.'

He spoke quite naturally, but Kathleen was rather porcupinish on this subject. She stood quite still, and faced round upon her brother. Fortunately the street was not at all a crowded one.

'Now, Neville,' she said, 'I'm not going to have you go on again like that about my not caring. I know it's that you mean, and I just won't have it. I care a great deal more than if I sat down and cried about it.'

Neville stared at her.

'Kathie,' he said, 'I wasn't thinking about you when I said that. I wasn't indeed. I know you do care when you really think about things. And if you didn't, it wouldn't in a way be your fault. You've been so alone as it were; nobody except me, and we've not been much together after all, to talk about home things to. But don't be vexed with me, Kathie.'

Kathleen's face had softened while Neville spoke. She turned and walked on quietly beside him.

'Yes,' she said, 'it's true what you say. I've felt it still more since Philippa's been there. She's been so much with her mother, and she is so fond of her. It must be dreadfully nice to have a mother you know so well that you can love her like that. Neville,' she went on, 'it does seem hard that I should just be getting to feel more like you about it, when there's no chance of them coming home, and our being with them.'

Neville sighed.

'Yes,' he said, 'it does seem hard. All the same, Kathie, I'm very glad you're getting to feel more that way. Philippa must be a nice little girl.'

'She's a very nice little girl,' said Kathie heartily. 'But she's funny – she's such a queer mixture of babyishness and old-for-her-age-ness.'

And then, as her own words recalled some of her conversation with Philippa, she suddenly exclaimed —

'Neville, are you sure, quite sure, that there's no chance of things coming right for papa?'

'What do you mean?' asked Neville in surprise.

'Do you think there's no chance of the will ever being found – or the paper telling where it is? The paper that should have been in the envelope?'

'I should think that's the least likely thing of all – a little sheet of paper! A will's rather a big thing – at least, generally. Mr. Fanshaw says it's written on parchment, and that even a short will is rather a bulky thing. That's why it seems so queer it should be lost. But the bit of paper could easily have been lost. Aunt Clotilda thinks that the blank bit was put in by mistake, you know, so most likely the right bit was torn up long ago. Mrs. Wynne was getting a little blind.'

'Still,' persisted Kathleen, 'as the will can't be found, I think they should have a hunt for the paper. You see, if the will's rather a big thing, it's pretty sure they'd have found it unless it had been really hidden. And, besides, Mrs. Wynne's meaning to leave directions where to find it, shows it wasn't anywhere to be found easily.'

'Yes, of course,' said Neville, surprised at Kathleen's reasoning powers.

'Well then,' she went on, 'I'd look for the paper. It might be in ever so many places where the will couldn't be. I wonder if they've hunted through Mrs. Wynne's desk and blotting books, and places like that?'

'I wonder too,' said Neville. 'But they'd only laugh at us if we said anything, you see, Kathie, because we're children.'